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Fionn picked at his biscuit uncomfortably. Friction seemed to be growing between Meghan and Eostre, and Fionn didn't want to be involved. He bent his head over his meal, as though it had suddenly become an incredibly interesting work of culinary art. Guh. It was an incredibly DRY work of culinary art. He coughed, accidentally inhaling a crumb.
He stood quickly, brushing his hands against the legs of his breeches. His waterskin was half-full, and he drank deeply. After the offending crumb had dissappeared, he weighed the skin in his hand.
"Well," he began uncomfortably. "Since that problem seems to have resolved itself, I'll go refill our water supply, shall I?"
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